


i don't wanna be your friend (i wanna kiss your neck)

by celestjal



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 15:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17900714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestjal/pseuds/celestjal
Summary: Since the startling realization that she’s been unknowingly in love with her best friend for pretty much as long as they’ve known each other, she’s figured it’s only a matter of time before everything blows up in her face.And really, she can’t blame anyone but herself — this is entirely her own fault.But jeopardizing the most meaningful relationship in her life over something as trivial as unreciprocated feelings is significantly more disastrous than forgetting to buy eggs at the store.





	1. jyn

Since the startling realization that she’s been unknowingly in love with her best friend for pretty much as long as they’ve known each other, she’s figured it’s only a matter of time before everything blows up in her face.

 

And really, she can’t blame anyone but herself — this is entirely her own fault.

 

A lot of things seem to be her fault lately.

 

But jeopardizing the most meaningful relationship in her life over something as trivial as unreciprocated feelings is significantly more disastrous than forgetting to buy eggs at the store.

 

Confessing the true extent of her feelings for him would only lead to even more heartbreak and pain than silent pining has already caused her. She doesn’t think she could withstand that kind of rejection, not from him.

 

For now, she’s not going to do anything to fuck up what she has.

 

* * *

 

“Jyn? Are you okay?”

 

She’ll be the first to admit that setting up camp in the middle of the living room maybe wasn’t the smartest idea. In her defense, dragging herself all the way to her room seemed unrealistic, considering it took fifteen minutes longer than usual to walk up five flights of stairs to their apartment.

 

At least this way, she’s closer to the alcohol _and_ the ice cream.

 

The downside, apparently, is that she can’t wallow in misery in the privacy of her own bedroom. She’d check her phone to see if she missed any of his messages, but it probably ended up on the kitchen counter or thrown across the living room — if it even made it home with her. (And she really hopes it did, because the thought of trudging back to that god-forsaken restaurant is not appealing in the slightest). Either way, her plans to spend the rest of the night grieving her newly non-existent love life are ruined, because Cassian is home early from the office.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

“Mhmm. Fine.” Jyn screws her eyes shut when she starts to feel tears prickling at her eyes, which make the lump growing in her throat that much harder to swallow. Ignoring the shakiness in her own voice, she attempts to change the subject. “How was class today? I know you were up late last night grading papers.”

 

As infuriating (and not at all endearing, _of course not_ ) as his tendency to overreact is, she really can’t blame him this time. The realization of what she must look like to him hits her like a punch to the gut. She’s wearing her late father’s college sweater, hugging a half-eaten carton of strawberry ice cream tightly to her chest (which is especially concerning considering she hates strawberries), and trying to hide the fact that her eyes are undoubtedly red-rimmed and puffy.

 

“You sure?” he asks, incredulous. “Because you only watch Million Dollar Baby when you’re upset and need an excuse to cry.”

 

Her chance to snap back with some snarky comment disappears by the time she opens her mouth to respond, because he rounds the couch just as she’s wiping away a stray tear from her reddened cheek.

 

She can pinpoint the exact moment he gets his first good look at her, because his frown deepens and his eyes narrow until that little crease between his brows appears. He assesses the situation: his best friend curled up against the arm of the couch looking miserable, her right hand haphazardly bandaged. He recognizes the scene playing in the background from her designated sulking movie, and she’s shamelessly devouring the ice cream she frequently makes fun of him for buying.

 

“What happened? You mentioned Leia set you up with someone from work, but — ”

 

“It’s fine. Nothing happened.”

 

His only response to that is a raised eyebrow.

 

“He didn’t _do_ anything — ”

 

“Oh, is that why you punched him?”

 

She glares at him, tucking her hand behind her leg where he can’t see her freshly bandaged knuckles, as if he hasn’t already noticed. “Okay, so it wasn’t nothing, but I already took care of it,” she assures him, gesturing pointedly with her hand. “You don’t have to worry about it, Cass.”

 

He nods slowly, and he knows her well enough to skip the interrogation and instead ask, “Anything I can do?”

 

“Watch with me?”

 

Cassian smiles faintly and motions for her to make room for him. If it were anyone else, she’d move to the opposite end for the sake of personal space, but since they’ve always been particularly tactile with each other, she scoots so there’s just enough room for him between her and the arm of the couch. He settles in behind her, and she doesn’t feel the familiar impulse to recoil when he places a hand on her stomach, pressing down gently to encourage her to lay back against his chest.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, plucking the spoon from the carton and scooping up a mouthful of strawberry ice cream, “but I could’ve sworn you preferred chocolate.”

 

She shrugs. “This was all we had.”

 

“I’ll pick some up the next time I’m out, okay?” And then he’s lifting the container out of her grasp and resting it next to him, on his other side, so he can finish eating one-handedly. “But for now, you don’t get any more of this, because _somebody_ stole mine,” he teases affectionately.

 

Her jaw drops in mock indignation, and she reaches over to snatch the carton away from him. “Arsehole.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before. You love me, Erso,” he says, and places a soft kiss to the crown of her head.

 

She tells herself that she doesn’t tense up at those words, that the hand still pressed to her stomach must be an accident, that her heart doesn’t start fluttering in her chest when she feels his lips brush her temple.

 

(She’s never been so good at lying to herself until now.)

 

* * *

 

Jyn doesn’t remember falling asleep the night before, which is probably why it comes as such a surprise when she finds herself stirring from sleep, the first rays of early morning sunlight streaming in through the window. It takes her a moment of half-conscious consideration to figure out why she’s awake so early on the weekend, especially when the previous night had been so emotionally draining.

 

Her phone vibrates insistently from somewhere in the room. It’s not until she cranes her head over the side of the couch that it comes into view, having fallen onto the floor sometime overnight.

 

She grumbles at the thought of moving when she’s so warm and comfortable, but figures if someone bothered calling her this early on a Saturday morning, it must be important. She’s about to prop herself up on an elbow to reach for her phone, when she realizes a second too late that there’s an arm wrapped snugly around her midsection.

 

_Cassian._

 

And just like that, Jyn is hyperaware of every place they touch: his hand tucked against her side where her shirt has ridden up while they were sleeping, his knee wedged between hers, his nose nudging at the back of her neck every time he takes a breath, _the entire length of his body pressed against hers_.

 

More than anything, she wants to stay curled up in his arms without worrying about what happens when he wakes up and discovers they had fallen asleep on the couch and are now _spooning_. She wants to turn to face him and run her fingers through his undoubtedly sleep-mussed hair. Wants to wake him up by ghosting carefully-placed kisses first to his collarbone, then to that ticklish spot behind his ear.

 

But she can’t do that. Can’t, because she physically cannot bring herself to risk losing the relationship they have. Can’t, because of all the things in her life that she’s fucked up, she swore to herself that he wouldn’t be one of them.

 

If she didn’t have to constantly remind herself that their relationship is strictly platonic, that they are nothing more than friends sharing an apartment, it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much every time they toed the line between “just” and “more than” friends. If he didn’t make ignoring her feelings for him so damn _hard_ , maybe she’d be able to get over herself long enough to spend time with her best friend without feeling like some pathetic arsehole.

 

It does hurt, though. Every time, there’s this distinctly tight sensation in the pit of her stomach, plucking at each and every one of her tender heartstrings — (if she didn’t know better, she’d say it feels like _butterflies in her stomach_ ) — and she’s reminded, once again, that she is in love with him, and he is so clearly not in love with her.

 

Before Jyn has the chance to descend into a full-fledged fantasy, he fortunately (unfortunately?) begins to stir behind her. His arm momentarily tightens around her waist before withdrawing back to his side. “Jyn?” he mumbles, lifting his head from where it rested behind hers.

 

Considering the amount of time they’ve lived together, it’s frankly a bit ridiculous she’s only noticing how devastatingly attractive he is first thing in the morning _now_. Don’t get her wrong, she had known, but not to this extent, not at such close proximity. And now she’ll never be able to share the bathroom or eat breakfast with him in peace again. _Urg_.

 

Distracted by the sight of him, perfectly tousled hair and lopsided smile and all, Jyn doesn’t quite catch the words coming out of his mouth.

 

He laughs at the baffled expression on her face, and repeats himself, “What’s that sound?”

 

“Uh. My phone. Leia probably wants to interrogate me about last night.” She groans at the thought of suffering through _that_ conversation, knowing it’ll be more cross-examination than friendly discussion.

 

Cassian, now propped up alongside her, hums sympathetically. “You’ll need sustenance if you’re gonna survive that. I’ll get breakfast started if you make the coffee?”

 

And damn if that doesn’t instantly brighten her mood. “Deal.” She manages to hoist herself off the couch without tumbling to the floor, then grabs his hands to pull him up after her. It’s hard to miss the wide smile spread across his face, and she grins back at him.

 

“Come on, Andor, breakfast won’t make itself. And we both know what would happen if _I_ tried making it.”

 

* * *

 

“ _You slept with him?!_ ”

 

“Not like that!” Jyn exclaims, anxiously glancing up to see if Cassian overheard Leia’s outburst, but he’s sitting at the bar with his back turned to their booth, engaged in conversation with Kay. “Jesus, will you keep your voice down? He’s literally twenty feet away.”

 

“Nah, Kay’s keeping him busy,” Bodhi says. “So, if you didn’t sleep with him, you…”

 

“Slept with him. Literally. We must’ve fallen asleep on the couch together after the movie, because I…,” she hesitates, staring hard at the empty glass in her hands cas she continues, “may or may not have woken up to him spooning me this morning.”

 

“ _Awww_. That’s _adorable_ ,” Bodhi gushes.

 

His gaze trails over to where Luke stands in the corner, sheepishly collecting his winnings after beating yet another unsuspecting victim at a game of darts. His boyfriend, as if sensing Bodhi’s eyes on him, meets his gaze and waves enthusiastically from across the bar.

 

(If her hopeless pining is annoying, then Bodhi and Luke’s cuteness is downright obnoxious.)

 

( _No, she is_ not _jealous._ )

 

Jyn scowls. She’s tempted to slide out of the booth and join her other friends, or maybe just turn in for the night, but she’d just be putting off the inevitable if she goes home now. As appealing as ignoring her friends’ (unsolicited) advice and bottling up her feelings is, it’s better to get this conversation over now.

 

“This is becoming a problem, you know,” Leia begins, expertly balancing scornful disapproval and genuine concern. “Scott called me from the emergency room last night, demanding I pay his medical bills for the broken nose you gave him. At this rate, I’ll run out of people to set you up with by this time next month. And I know _a lot_ of people, mind you.”

 

“It’s been a problem for about a year now, but thanks for finally catching on.”

 

Leia purses her lips. “You’ve made it clear you’re not going to tell him, but it’s either that or figure out how to get over him.”

 

“I know,” she says emphatically. “What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to do? ”

 

“I love you, babe, I do — but someone needs to tell you the self-pitying, ‘unworthy of love’ act isn’t cute anymore, and Bodhi’s too nice for that. It was one thing when it stopped you from pursuing other guys, but now it’s interfering with your actual dates.”

 

“You can’t pine silently forever, Jyn, as much as we know you want to,” Bodhi says, ducking his head to meet her eyes and making her glare harder at the label of her beer bottle.

 

She wants nothing more at the moment than to crawl into her bed and stay there forever. At least there, no one would constantly criticize her choices or pressure her to do something she’s pretty sure may just ruin her life. (Which, okay, may be a bit dramatic of her, but she’s fully prepared to argue that it’s warranted considering the subject matter and the state of the rest of her life.) “Okay, so I’m pathetic — that’s already been established. What’s your point?”

 

“You need to _tell him._ ”

 

“ _No_ ,” she insists vehemently. “You know I can’t do that, Leia. I can’t bear to lose him, too, not after … not after everything.”

 

_Not after everyone else has left her, not when she knows telling him will inevitably make him leave her, too. He was supposed to be the one person she could trust would never abandon her._

 

“Then you have to figure out how to move on, because if you don’t, you may lose him anyway.”

 

* * *

  

Jyn would like to say she can count on one hand the number of times she’s gotten piss drunk and complained to a bartender about her problems, but even using all five fingers would be an understatement by drastic proportions.

 

It’s a lot cheaper than therapy, alright?

  

It’s gotten to the point that both of the Falcon’s bartenders are familiar with her. Han is really only good for interrupting and giving unsolicited advice, but he also gives her a (loose, albeit sometimes useful) approximation of another person’s perspective, so she puts up with him. Chewie is much better at listening and letting Jyn talk through everything herself, which means every thought that crosses her mind is usually spewed via drunken word vomit.

 

Jyn doesn’t actually know if they pay attention to whatever gibberish comes out of her mouth, considering a significant portion of their job description entails pretending to listen to the drunken ramblings of lonely patrons. But her group of friends has all but officially designated the Falcon as their go-to bar, and she comes in on her own often enough that they must know the basic premise of her problem by now.

 

So she can’t say she’s surprised when Han asks if she’d made any progress since they last spoke as she takes her regular seat at the bar.

 

(The rest of her friends had called it a night, claiming they could "go all night” if they wanted to, despite half of them worrying about the upcoming midterms and the rest exhausted from work.

 

Cassian had suggested they share a cab home, but she turns down his offer in favor of staying a little longer. She nearly misses the strange expression that flicks across his features, watches as he replaces it with a tight smile. She dismisses it as yet another side effect of her perpetual inability to read him.)

 

“Not much,” she says, readily accepting the beer he offers her. “I went out with some other guy, and that blew up in my face. Otherwise, I’m still in love with him and he’s still blissfully unaware.”

 

“Blissfully?”

 

“Yeah, well, you know. I doubt he’s gonna be all that happy when his relationship with his best friend is ruined and the entire group’s dynamic is all,” she pauses to motion vaguely with the beer bottle, “mucked up.”

 

“Just because things would change doesn’t mean they’d have to get _all mucked up_ ,” Han counters, attempting the foreign slang with a very inaccurate (but very amusing) imitation of her accent. At least Han always manages to make her feel a little less shitty about her shitty situation whenever she needs to spill her guts to someone that won't judge her. “Change can be good, y’know.”

 

“Yeah, but not when you get rejected by your best friend _and_ destroy the most important relationship in your life, _at the same fucking time_.”

 

“I know you’re the queen of pessimism and all, but you can’t know he’d reject you.”

 

She laughs bitterly, intently watching her fingers pick away at the bottle’s label. “Come on, you know Cassian. He’s _this_ close to being perfect — it’d be infuriating, if he weren’t so damn nice about it. He could have anyone he wants, which is definitely not … a hot mess with intimacy issues, three dead parents, and a slight drinking problem.”

 

“Look, kid,” Han says, setting down the glass he’s cleaning to lean over the bar. “I’m not one to talk when it comes to love and communication and all that mumbo jumbo, but I’m pretty sure you can’t actually know what’s goin’ on in the guy’s head until you talk to him about it.”

 

“God, you sound like Leia,” she groans.

 

If she wanted to hear more about how utterly depressing her so-called love life has become since she realized she was desperately in love with her best friend, she wouldn't be here. She’d be back at the apartment, breaking into their stash of good liquor and listening to her friends preach about living without regrets, or something. But since that’s decidedly the _last_ thing she wants to do at the moment, she’s drinking to forget.

 

Hence the bar.

 

Han moves to pour a drink for a customer to her right, then returns with another beer for her, since she polished off the first one at a speed that might be alarming under different circumstances. “Hate to admit it, but Princess Pain-in-the-Ass is a real smart girl. I’d listen to her if I were you.”

 

The expression on her face must be one of unfiltered shock, because he frowns and mutters, “Don’t read too far into it, kid.”

 

She rolls her eyes at his latest attempt to appear indifferent and uninterested when literally everyone knows he’s full of shit. Jyn will _definitely_ be telling Leia about that comment, can already imagine how her friend would try to draw attention away from her blush with half-assed insults they both know she doesn’t really mean.

 

And they say she needs to get her shit together. Right.

 

“I know that as your bartender, and therefore unofficial shrink, I’m supposed to be on your side, but I really think you should reconsider. Your friends have a point, y’know.”

 

Jyn shoots him a glare, but she can tell her it doesn’t have the usual effect. It’d be a lot easier for her to be properly pissed at her friends if they weren’t always right.


	2. cassian

If he’s being completely honest with himself, he thinks he’s always been a little in love with her.

 

She’s been a permanent fixture in his life for the past five years, his best friend and roommate for the past three. And even before then, reluctant admiration and mutual respect (and attraction, on his part) was underlying the initial dislike borne from unfamiliarity.

 

Except now, that admiration and respect has evolved into something he recognizes as adoration, as _love_.

 

But she is decidedly not interested — not like that, not in him — so he’s accepted that things between them won’t go further than where they are now. They are friends first and foremost, and he would never do anything to compromise that.

 

As long as she remains in his life in some capacity, he tells himself, it’s enough.

 

It has to be.

 

* * *

 

At this point, Cassian doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.

 

Why bother trying, when he’s so wound up?

 

He’s been unsuccessfully trying not to overanalyze the past 36 hours since he got home from the Falcon. But attempting to force his thoughts into alignment with Jyn’s — his behavior the night before was strictly platonic, spending the night with her on the couch ( _spooning_ her on the couch) was strictly platonic — is exhausting and pointless. He can’t stop thinking about it, and acting like nothing happened just makes him obsess over it more.

 

He’s already come to terms with the certainty that he’ll never get over her, so what’s the point in pretending like he already has? As long as he can keep his one-sided pining to himself without letting it interfere with their friendship (any more than it already has), he doesn’t see why he should have to —

 

His phone vibrates from the nightstand beside his bed. Eagerly welcoming the distraction from his own thoughts, he reaches over and accepts the call.

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _Cass’n?_ ” He immediately recognizes the voice on the other end of the line. There’s an unmistakable undercurrent of distress in her tone, and any lingering thoughts of burdening her with his feelings disappear as a lead weight settles in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Jyn?” When she doesn’t answer right away, he jerks upright and scrambles to the edge of his bed. “Jyn? Are you alright?”

 

“ _Not really? I drank too much, and now I feel like t-throwing up?”_ she says, but it comes across as more of a question than a statement. That scares him nearly as much as the vulnerability evident in her voice, since Jyn has never been one to get sick when she drinks. He reaches for his keys.

 

 _“Except I don’t think it’s the alcohol because I’m pretty sure I know what that feels like and this i-isn’t it, so it must be all the goddamn_ feelings _, and — wow, I am really bad at managing my emotions, huh? Oh, and now I can’t find my fucking_ keys _anywhere —_ ”

 

“Okay, Jyn? I need you to take a deep breath and try to calm down for me.” He almost forgets to grab his jacket off the hook as he closes the apartment door behind him, slowing down just enough to lock the door with trembling hands. “I’m coming to get you right now. You’re at the Falcon? I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

 

“ _I’m sorry for — I didn’t mean to bother you, or wake you up in the middle of the night, I just … I didn’t know who else would pick up? Pick me up?_ ” She’s babbling now, as only Drunk Jyn does. Soon she’ll get sleepy and pass out, and he’s determined to get to her before she either throws up or falls asleep slumped over the bar.

 

“Hey, don't apologize. It's okay.”

 

She hesitates, and for a moment all he hears from the other end of the line is her shaky intake of air. “ _If you’re sure._ ”

 

“Of course I’m sure. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

 

* * *

 

 _As soon as possible_ turns out to be less than ten minutes after he hangs up. He would have preferred to stay on the line with her, but driving while simultaneously speeding _and_ talking on the phone would’ve guaranteed a car crash, and it’d be hard to make sure she’s okay from a hospital bed.

 

He knows, realistically, that the empty parking spot right in front of the Falcon is purely coincidental, probably due to the late hour, but he’d like to think luck is on his side for once. The streak continues as he rushes into the bar and spots her immediately, sitting at her regular seat among the few remaining patrons.

 

He watches for a moment as she dozes against her folded arms, half-empty glass inadvertently elbowed out of the way to make room. He knows it would be almost impossible to get her home in this state — _how would he even get her into the car?_ — but the thought of waking her up when she looks so comfortable makes him want to consider it.

 

“Hey, Jyn,” he whispers, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder as not to accidentally startle her awake.

 

Her head lifts at the sound of his voice, nose wrinkling adorably as she’s awoken from sleep. The expression on her face when she realizes it’s him betrays an odd combination of relief, exhaustion, and confusion. “Cass’n? You came?”

 

He rears his head back at that, offended and hurt at the suggestion that he wouldn’t come through for her. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

 

“No! I mean … I dunno, I guess I thought you’d just, like, order a cab or something.”

 

“And force Han, our good friend and favorite bartender, to babysit you until it arrives? I’d like to think I have a bit more consideration for others than _that_ ,” he teases, deciding to disregard her earlier comment, even though it still hurts to think she doesn’t trust him to be there for her.

 

(He _loves_ her, how could he _not_ be there for her?)

 

Han saunters over from across the bar at the mention of his name, handing over the keys he confiscated from Jyn earlier. He shoots Cassian a pointed look as he collects the empty glasses and wipes down the bar, and Cassian doesn’t really know what to do with that.

 

“I’ll have you know,” Jyn mutters grumpily, “I’m a fuckin’ delight, Andor.” She climbs down from the stool, swatting halfheartedly at the hands he has hovering at her waist in case she loses her balance on the way down. “You’d know, ‘cause I always let you pick the restr-restaurant we order out from. _And_ ‘cause I’m the only one willing to watch all those stupid documentaries with you. I hate those.”

 

He might’ve even been offended, had she _not_ drunkenly stumbled over the word ‘restaurant.’

 

(That, and the fact that he knows she actually loves those historic war documentaries.

 

Jyn thinks it’s this big secret, but Cassian has known for years now. He ‘begs’ her to watch with him for her benefit, because he knows if she doesn’t get the chance to act all annoyed and exasperated, she’ll spend the whole night lurking irritably from the doorway until he invites her over again. She pretends to be bored, but he still sees the slight quirk of her lips and the involuntary way she leans forward when something gets blown up.

 

And she thinks she’s _sneaky_.)

 

“That is a bold-faced lie and you know it, Erso,” he says, mostly because he doubts she’ll remember this conversation in the morning.

 

One hand goes to her waist when she nearly trips over herself on the way out of the bar, the other holding the door open for her. He guides her to the car and helps her clamber inside without smacking her head on the roof. Unsurprisingly, she passes out immediately after he closes the passenger-side door, and he struggles to contain his grin.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t remember that their apartment complex’s elevator is perpetually out of order until he’s already helping her out of the car and leaning her against his chest as he shuts the door behind her.

 

They’ll have to take the stairs. Definitely not ideal, but it’s possible, right?

 

“Okay, Jyn?” he says softly, knowing she desperately wants to collapse into her bed but has to settle for slumping against him instead. “I know the elevator’s not working, but do you think you can make it up the stairs? For me?”

 

Jyn nods sleepily into his chest, and he’s almost surprised she hasn’t fallen back asleep.

 

They make it all the way up to the landing at the top of the first flight of stairs, his arm wrapped around her side to steady her, before she stumbles. He bends down to gather her into his arms, the content sound she makes as she buries her face into the crook of his neck (more than) enough to make up for the sore back he’ll have tomorrow. He slowly makes his way up the stairs with her pressed against his chest, partially to prevent potential life-threatening injuries, but mostly as not to jostle her.

 

It takes time, but he manages to carry her all the way up to their apartment. Setting her down gently, he leans her against his chest again so his free hand can dig out his keys from his jacket pocket. “We’re home, Jyn,” he murmurs as he unlocks the door and guides her inside.

 

Cassian watches, amused, as she struggles her way out of her jacket and attempts to kick off her high-top sneakers without success. The petulant glare she fixes him with somehow comes across as a silent plea for help, and he bends down to untie the laces for her.

 

As soon as he has both her shoes off, he steers her in the direction of her room and settles her down on the edge of her bed, instructing her to sit tight while he finds her a change of clothes to wear to bed.

 

He pulls out a soft grey pair of sweatpants from her dresser, and rifles around for the fluffiest pair of socks he can find, because he knows she hates sleeping barefoot. And then all he needs is a shirt — except instead of finding some threadbare t-shirt she wouldn’t mind parting with (in case she actually throws up), he recognizes the shirt he thought had gone missing months ago. In her dresser. Huh.

 

“Cass?”

 

He startles, breath hitching in his throat. “Yeah?”

 

Instead of admonishing him like he expects, she mumbles, “Can I sleep now?”

 

Relief washes over him, and he sighs. “Not yet, Jyn.” He gathers up the change of clothes he’s collected for her, and kneels down on the floor in front of her. “I have some clean clothes here if you want to change. Do you?”

 

Jyn nods drowsily.

 

“Okay. Do you want me to leave, or do you think you’ll need help?”

 

“I can do it.”

 

Cassian stands and faces the wall to give her privacy. Somehow, she manages to pull on the fresh pair of sweatpants by herself, but gets her arm caught in the sleeve of her shirt as she’s trying to pull it off. He hears her struggling and asks hesitantly, “Are you sure you don’t need any help, Jyn?”

 

When she doesn’t answer at first, he assumes she either refuses to admit defeat by answering or has fallen back asleep. And then, “No.”

 

“‘No’ you’re not sure, or ‘no’ you don’t need any help?”

 

Another pause. “I need help.”

 

“Okay,” Cassian says, turning around to evaluate the situation. Her elbow is wedged halfway into the sleeve of her shirt, and he motions for her to raise her arms so he can slip the shirt all the way off. It would be rude and creepy and _wrong_ to stare at her when she’s half naked and too intoxicated to tell him to fuck off, so he doesn’t. He pulls the t-shirt he found for her over her head, eyes fixed on a point past her shoulder, and tugs it into place so it fits comfortably over her small frame.

 

(And _yes_ , seeing Jyn wearing the oversized shirt she secretly stole from him absolutely _does_ do things to Cassian. But just because he’s decided to stop lying to himself doesn’t mean she’ll ever know that.)

 

He imagines it wouldn’t be very comfortable for her to sleep with her hair in a bun, so he takes a moment to pull all the bobby pins and hair ties out. Her hair falls down around her shoulders, and he can’t help but notice how pretty she looks with her hair down.

 

Before she can pass out again, he helps her settle into bed. Her tendency to forget (read: refuse) to make the bed works in his favor for once, allowing him to easily pull the covers back so she can slip under. She immediately burrows under all the layers, arms folded into her chest and socked feet curled inward, as he tucks the covers securely around her.

 

Cassian is tempted to climb into bed with her, wrap himself around her like he had the night before. He won’t, though. Frankly, he’s scared she won’t be as forgiving about unwillingly waking up with him as she had been the first time around.

 

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything, okay?” he whispers, despite doubting she’s still awake to hear him, as he secures the covers around her one last time. Operating under the impression that she’s asleep, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear and leans down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. The pure love and adoration he feels for her in that moment is practically palpable.

 

He’s turning to leave when she reaches out to snag his wrist. Which, if she’s not asleep —

 

She tugs gently on his wrist to draw him closer. He leans down because he can barely hear her over the thrumming in his ears, still embarrassed that she was awake the whole time. She smiles at him and whispers, like it’s a secret, “Thank you, Cassi.”

 

And then, because he thinks she may just be trying to kill him, she leans up to kiss his cheek. Except she misses, and instead her lips land at the corner of his mouth.

 

 _God_.

 

* * *

 

Jyn doesn’t leave her room until well past noon. Cassian, familiar enough with her hangover habits to know she’d sleep past a reasonable hour, had planned accordingly.

 

He watches in amusement as she trudges out of her room and into the kitchen, looking vaguely like death warmed over. The most impressive case of bedhead he’s ever witnessed, her (his) t-shirt rumpled and riding up at her hip, and tiny hands rubbing blearily at her eyes — and she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

 

(He is so far gone for her it’s ridiculous.)

 

“Good morning,” he says, and turns his attention back to stirring the homemade pancake batter so as to better hide his smile. Too distracted to notice his flustered reaction, Jyn sinks into a seat at the table and props her likely-aching head against the heel of her hand. “Sleep well?”

 

She lifts her head to fix him with a glare, muttering expletives under her breath as she buries her face in her hands again.

 

A faint smile underlies his attempt to avoid any awkwardness by introducing good-natured teasing into their exchange. “That’s no way to talk to the person making hangover breakfast just for you.”

 

“Oh my god, _really_?” A bright smile spreads across her face at the mention of their longstanding tradition, and it’s as if she’s forgotten entirely that she’s still hungover. “You’re too good to me.”

 

He scoffs in disbelief. _That’s impossible._

 

“Honestly, Cass,” Jyn insists, pushing herself onto her feet and joining him in the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as she leans back against the counter, arms crossed and head tilted in his direction. He focuses his attention back on pouring the pancake batter before she notices.

 

“I woke you up in the middle of the night and forced you to pick me up by threatening you with impending guilt. And now you’re making me _breakfast_ for the second morning _in a row_ — ”

 

“Okay, first of all, you didn’t _force_ me to pick you up from the Falcon. I did it because you needed me to and I know you’d do the same for me.”

 

Which is true. Not the entire extent of the reasoning behind his actions, but true nonetheless. She doesn’t need to know that as soon as he heard the shakiness in her voice, his stomach lurched sickeningly. She doesn’t need to know that he nearly crashed his car on his way to the bar because he couldn’t get to her fast enough.

 

Cassian resolutely keeps those thoughts to himself.

 

“And are you seriously complaining right now? About hangover breakfast?”

 

“No, just. I don’t understand.” Her face scrunches up in confusion as she worries her bottom lip, and he has to look away before he starts to stare.

 

He clears his throat. “Understand what?”

 

“Honestly? I don’t understand why you’re still friends with me, let alone treat me like I’m not an undeserving arsehole half the time.”

 

 _What?_ “What are you talking about, Jyn?”

 

She surges forward, her hand going to the back of his neck to bring him closer, and crushes her lips to his. It’s uncoordinated, and sloppy, and their teeth clink painfully together when she presses further into him. But it’s quite possibly (definitely) the best kiss he’s ever experienced, simply because it’s _her._

 

He’s too caught up in trying to process this unexpected turn of events that he doesn’t get the chance to return the kiss before she’s pulling away, eyes wide and expression panicked. _He hadn’t kissed back._ He’s dumbfounded, his mouth seemingly unable to form words to reassure her that _no_ , it doesn’t have to have been a mistake, and _yes_ , he very much wants her to kiss him again.

 

The silence stretches a little _too_ long. Jyn must take his lack of response as rejection, because she flinches away from him and starts frantically backpedaling, “ _Fuck_. I shouldn’t have done that. I just, I thought … I’m _so_ sorry, Cassian — ”

 

He kisses her before she can continue, swallowing her surprised gasp as he presses his lips against hers. His hands go to either side of her face, tilting her head upward so he can get a better angle, and her fingers tentatively curl around his wrists.

 

He pulls away — just for a moment, just to make sure they’re both on the same page — and she follows, eyes closed, leaning towards him to recapture his lips with hers. When he holds her back instead of returning the kiss, his hands still cupping her face, her eyes blink open to meet his gaze.

 

“Jyn.”

 

“Cassian.”

 

This time, they meet somewhere in the middle.

 

It’s surprisingly difficult, he quickly finds, to kiss someone when you’re both smiling. But he can’t help it, not when she pushes up onto her toes and winds both arms around his neck, and not when she kisses him back determinedly despite the grin stretching across her face.

 

One hand settled on the small of her back, he tries pulling her as close as possible, which he soon realizes isn’t nearly close enough. He bends down to lock his hands under her thighs and lift her up onto the kitchen countertop, somehow managing to keep his lips on hers the entire time.

 

She wraps her legs around his middle as he slots himself between her parted knees, one arm remaining hooked over his shoulder so her fingers can tug at his hair, while the other hand drops to his chest, right over his heart. And at that he melts, certain that she can feel his heart pounding rapidly under her fingers, as if it’s trying to jump out of his chest and into hers (where he knows it belongs).

 

The urgency eventually drains out of them, and they slowly ease off of each other. Cassian presses gentle kisses to her neck, brushing his lips against the underside of her jaw, as his thumbs rub circles into the soft skin of her hip where his hands have snuck under her (his) shirt. “Can I tell you a secret?”

 

Jyn pulls back to meet his eyes. When he searches her expression this time, there is no insecurity, no fear of rejection mirrored back at him — just her, and her soft smile, and those beautiful green eyes he can’t help but get lost in.

 

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he says, smiling, “you have _no idea_.”

 

She grins. “Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i'm open to writing an epilogue/continuation in the same 'verse if enough people are interested, so let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> can't say i'm entirely pleased with the way this turned out, but i've been working on this fic for a (ridiculously, embarrassingly) long time and i'm excited to finally publish it. the next part features drunken shenanigans, forehead kisses, and all around fluffiness, so stick around!
> 
> thank you for reading! if you enjoyed it, please leave kudos + comments because i adore feedback <3


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